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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030415">Unforgettable (CCY2K)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/demizorua/pseuds/demizorua'>demizorua</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, CCY2K - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Self-Harm, and i had Ideas and here we are!, i was just kinda having thoughts and listening to music, if you read the blog you know what part it is, rated for language, read ccy2k on tumblr for this to make sense!, sensory overload but not in the nasty way, this entire thing is based off of the song unforgettable by nat king cole lmao, warning for the third chapter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:27:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030415</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/demizorua/pseuds/demizorua</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>That's why, darling, it's incredible</i>
    <br/>
    <i>That someone so unforgettable</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Thinks that I am</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Unforgettable, too</i>
  </p>
</div><hr/>
<p><a href="https://ccy2k.tumblr.com/post/626110619885633536/read-ccy2k-from-the-beginning-here-view">CCY2K</a> by @spookydoesstuff and @stars-with-citrus on tumblr!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>(not my original female characters! they belong to ccy2k on tumblr!), Benrey/Gordon Freeman, Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life), Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Tommy Coolatta/Darnold/Forzen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. That's why, darling, it's incredible</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Unforgettable</i>
    <br/>
    <i>That's what you are</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Unforgettable</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Tho' near or far</i>
  </p>
</div>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“… What are you guys doing?”</p>
<p>“Oh! Hello, Renee!” Coomer waved excitedly towards the screen, grinning widely from his perch atop an opened window of MS Paint. “We are currently getting ‘married!’” The rest of the AI programs were gathered around the center of the desktop, various windows scattered across the screen as well. The Restrictor stood in the center, atop a window with a .JPEG image of a wedding altar, and the Operator and Music Guru were both standing just below, in front of the couple in the image.</p>
<p>“Married?” Renee asked, leaning over and opening an extra window to monitor the CCY2K program’s code. “Who, you and Bubby?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” Coomer chirped, just as Bubby shouted ‘damn straight!’ “The Desktop Assistant told us about the process of ‘marriage,’ and helped us set up this wonderful event! Would you like to join?”</p>
<p>Quickly scanning the code input from the program, Renee found no problems with the code, everything running as it should be. The CPU looked normal as usual, and she couldn’t find any issues with the setup whatsoever. Shrugging, she minimized the tab, grinning at the AI.</p>
<p>“Sure, why not?” Leaning her head on one fist, Renee looked between the gathered programs, looking for one in particular. “Hey, Gordon, open the modeling program for me, would’ya?”</p>
<p>“Of course!” The little professor’s model gave a thumb’s up towards the screen, smiling as a new window opened in the corner. “What are you retexturing, Renee?”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m assuming Spork told you about weddings, right? You’ve been hanging out with them and their son a lot recently. Uh… Joseph, right?”</p>
<p>“Joshua!” Renee couldn’t help but snort at Gordon’s chipper response, the AI holding up one finger proudly. “He enjoys when I tell him cowboy facts!”</p>
<p>“Joshua, right, right. Good kid. Little younger than Ria’s brother, but not that different from Darnie from what I remember.” Opening the saved backups of Bubby and Coomer’s models, Renee began working on adding a new feature to each of them, grinning to herself. “Anyways, if you learned about weddings, you have to know about the most important part of them, Gourd!”</p>
<p>“The most important part? I don't remember reading about any specifically highly important aspects other than the setting and script portion,” Gordon said, frowning slightly. “Did I forget something?”</p>
<p>“The rings, dummy!” Smirking, Renee maneuvered the mouse over to the small professor, clicking on the top of head playfully. “Can’t have a wedding without that!”</p>
<p>“Hey!” Pouting, Gordon patted down his hair, trying to get the disheveled mess back under control. Spork was right; that was a completely necessary function they needed to patch into the program.</p>
<p>“How’re we, uh, supposed to get rings, though,” mumbled the Browsing Buddy, piping up from his spot sitting on the taskbar off to the side. “I can get you guys a picture, I guess…?”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry about it,” Renee replied, focusing on the modeling program, “you guys just keep doin’ what you were doing.” The AI looked on quietly for a moment, conflicted, before the Restrictor returned to his speech, eyes closed as he read off of his internal notes.</p>
<p>None of the ‘attendees’ were particularly attentive during the officiation process, most of them distracted by something else. Renee glanced over periodically, watching them interact with a fond smile. She’d gotten attached to these ‘funny little AIs,’ as Spork would call them, and it was entertaining to watch them interact; it was amazing how developed and life-like their personalities were!</p>
<p>Forzen was in the corner of the screen, leaning against Renee’s modeling window with Reaper sitting beside him. Renee had noticed that the two of them got along well, despite how rarely they interacted; that might be something to keep an eye on for the future. Bubby and Coomer were up above the majority of the others, and the Music Guru was making mocking faces out of boredom while the Operator listened intently to every word of the officiation speech.</p>
<p>Gordon was trying to pay attention as well, but the Firewall was making it difficult, clambering almost on top of the Assistant in an attempt to ruffle his hair again. Benrey tended to stick to Gordon, Renee had noticed, and from what she could tell there was something deeper to the Firewall’s affection. Unfortunately, Gordon appeared to be hopelessly dense, but it was at the very least amusing to watch the two of them dance around each other. Especially with how oblivious the Desktop Assistant was, even to his own feelings.</p>
<p>Interestingly enough, the Mailman AI, Tommy, was also paying close attention to the process, and not just because Gman was officiating. His eyes were practically sparkling, mouth slightly open in awe as he hung onto each and every word of the speech. It made sense, now that she thought about it; Tommy was already super devoted to his love letter delivery act, so being fond of the idea of marriage wasn’t out of what could be expected from the nervous AI.</p>
<p>Soon enough, Gman finished his monotone speech, awkwardly concluding with ‘and… now for the, vows.’ Renee was just about done with the edits she was quickly working on, — smaller edits and models didn’t take as much time as full model overhauls, thankfully, — so she fully turned her attention towards the ceremony, snickering slightly at the endearing scene.</p>
<p>Bubby was visibly blushing, clicking the buttons of his walkman anxiously, headphones looped around his neck. He was gnawing on his lower lip with his sharp teeth and, if he wasn’t a computer program and thus not capable of bleeding, Renee would have been worried that he might hurt himself. Coomer was watching him like he’d hung the sun and the moon, though, eyes shimmering with love and affection. Literally. The sparkling eyes were good for expressing awe and happiness, and nobody had stopped Renee from coding it in so, fuck it, there it is!</p>
<p>“Ahem!” Clearing his throat, Bubby straightened up, thrusting his shoulders back and puffing his chest out, chin jutting outwards. “Harold! I may only have existed for about three months, and haven’t seen anything outside of the music library on this program, but even I can tell how fucking amazing you are! You control all the crazy message shit in this place, and manage to wrangle all these fucking amateurs into doing shit on a daily basis!”</p>
<p>“you’re the youngest one here, broooo,” Benrey called, the firewall now full-on laying on the Desktop Assistant’s lap, Gordon appearing to have resigned himself to being used as a chair. Bubby wordlessly flipped him off, and Benrey cackled loudly, sticking his tongue out in response.</p>
<p>“See, this is exactly what I’m fucking talking about! Amateurs, all of them.” Coomer chuckled quietly and Bubby’s face flared bright red again, his façade of overconfidence slipping immediately. The Music Guru cleared his throat again, shaking his head, and continued.</p>
<p>“But… you’re fucking awesome, Harold, and I’m… really happy you, uh… you feel the same… or whatever. Because you’re the coolest program on this shitty computer!! …Aside from me, of course.”</p>
<p>Nodding, Bubby crossed his arms, muttering to himself as he looked to the side. Coomer had a gentle, fond smile on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners in raw happiness. Stepping forward, the Operator gently took both of his husband-to-be's hands in his own, staring into Bubby’s wide, flustered eyes.</p>
<p>“My dearest Bubby,” he began, “I may not be the most vital of programs in this computer we call our home, only a mere email Operator, but when I’m around you, you make me feel like I am just as vital as our lovely Restrictor here! I adore each and every moment spent in your company, and… I hope that you enjoy our time together as well.”</p>
<p>Smiling brighter, Coomer tilted his head slightly, eyes squeezing shut in joy and fondness. Bubby’s face was so bright red that Renee half expected him to overheat the PC, and it was almost comical how unbelievably flustered the usually confident and cocky AI appeared.</p>
<p>“I know we have a good while until the CCY2K program is released to the public, but… well, I do look forward to spending the rest of our digital life spans together, my dearest Bubby, as not just cooperating programs, but as husbands. Bubsbands, perhaps!”</p>
<p>The group gathered was filled with groans, both frustrated and fond, and Bubby snorted in amusement, fondness clear in his expression. Coomer grinned triumphantly for a few moments, before chuckling and returning to his gentle smile.</p>
<p>“I admittedly do not have much knowledge on how one’s ‘vows’ are supposed to be formatted,” Coomer continued, “but… well, I just want to say that I am delighted to be marrying you, dear professor, and truly love you much more than I can express.” Bubby was smiling happily, staring at Coomer with outward, clear love, but his face then fell, brow furrowing in a pout.</p>
<p>“It’s <i>Dr. DJ Bubby,</i>” the AI grumbled, causing Coomer to chuckle good-naturedly. Gman hummed to himself recapturing the attention of the attendants and straightened up with a neutral, focused expression. At least, as much of an expression as he could give, with no visible features besides bare outlines of his eyes.</p>
<p>“Mm… yes…” he muttered, voice low and stilted as always. “Now by the… power vested in me… by, the, creators of the CCY2K… program… I now pronounce you… married.”</p>
<p>“You may now kiss the AI!” Renee added, unable to help herself. The joke was just too perfect to pass up, give her a break! Before Bubby could retort as he appeared to be preparing to do, Coomer tugged his now-husband towards him, dipping the Music Guru as he pulled him into a kiss.</p>
<p>“swag,” Benrey said, voice completely monotone. “epic gay moment.” The other AI applauded with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and Renee joined in the congratulations for a moment, before pulling up the code of the new husbands in a separate window.</p>
<p>“Congrats, you two,” she said, catching the attention of the gathered AI. “I have a little somethin’ I whipped up for the lucky pair!” The AI all perked up, glancing between the opened windows curiously. “You up for a quick model update?”</p>
<p>“That sounds lovely, Renee,” Coomer chirped, Bubby nodding dazedly beside him. “I am quite excited to see what you’ve prepared!”</p>
<p>Chuckling, Renee began the process of updating the two AIs’ models, their figures glitching and shuddering slightly as the new additions were uploaded. The update didn’t take long, only a very small change was made, and soon the pair was back online, examining their bodies in search of the update.</p>
<p>“Oh shit,” Bubby muttered, finding the small gold band on the ring finger of his left hand. “Fuck!” Glancing over at his husband, Coomer raised his own left hand, face brightening as he found his own matching ring. As Coomer stared in awe at the ring, Bubby reached over to grab the operator’s hand, examining the ring closely with a grin. “Shit!”</p>
<p>“I take it that’s a good sign?” Renne asked, chuckling at Bubby’s awe. “I couldn’t give them too many smaller details, but I hope it still works!” Any nerves she might have felt fell away quickly, however, seeing how ecstatic the pair was, closely examining each other’s wedding band with wide grins.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Renee! This is truly wonderful,” said Coomer, a kindly smile on his face as he turned towards the screen. Renee nodded, closing spare windows absently as the wedding festivities continued.</p>
<p>With Forzen’s help finding appropriate background images, a dance floor was soon set up for the online attendees. Bubby was more than willing to take care of the music, although thankfully Coomer managed to convince him to play more than Dr. Feelgood on a never-ending loop.</p>
<p>While a good chunk of the group opted to sit by the sidelines and listen to the music passively, the Firewall managed to drag the Desktop Assistant out onto the dance floor alongside the happy couple, the two dancing alongside each other in a distinctly romantic way; although they’d never admit it. Renee watched them mutter quietly to each other as they swayed side to side, a much slower, softer song playing as the newlyweds slow danced in the center of the screen.</p>
<p>Sighing, Renee leaned her head against her fist, flipping through the pages of physical notes her supervisor had left — on paper so the AI couldn’t see them. She knew this relaxing silence wouldn’t last much longer; with the repeated issues in the Restrictor’s code, Spork had suggested a model swap to get the bugs under control. It was a good idea, to be sure, but given the issues that had been faced with the role in Gman’s control? There’s no way that there <i>wouldn’t</i> be repercussions.</p>
<p>And then there was Tommy, she thought, gaze drifting over to the quiet mailman. Renee knew he was a virus, that much was certain, but he didn’t seem to be doing any harm. Still, it <i>was</i> her job to prepare the program for release… could she really keep harboring a virus like this? She didn’t want to hurt him, especially with how benevolent he seemed, but she can’t keep him in the program forever! … Can she?</p>
<p>Rubbing her face with her free hand, Renee forced those thoughts from her mind. Now wasn’t the time to worry about impending changes or moral quandaries she’d have to contend with at some point. It was a wedding, for god’s sake, no matter how virtual the newlyweds were! She should be enjoying herself!</p>
<p>As the final tones of Nat King Cole faded out, coming through the tinny, modified speakers, Renee sat up in her seat, snickering as Bubby played Dr. Feelgood for the eighth time that day, much to the others’ chagrin. A playful argument soon broke out and Renee jumped in on the side of the Music Guru, enjoying the simplicity of the scenario and interactions, for however long the peace might last.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. That someone so unforgettable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Like a song of love that clings to me</i>
    <br/>
    <i>How the thought of you does things to me</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Never before</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Has someone been more…</i>
  </p>
</div>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was cold when Gordon woke up.</p>
<p>That wasn’t anything new; the assistant AI had always run colder than the others. What <i>was</i> strange was that it was dark, and there was someone he didn’t recognize wandering around the program anxiously.</p>
<p>Of course, he didn’t have time to waste on silly concerns; being the Desktop Assistant is a busy job, after all! The emails were asking for him, and the user needed his assistance! And fun facts! Possibly about cowboys! It was a bit much, all these emails coming in at once, so demanding and persistent, but the job of a Desktop Assistant is never easy! That only makes it all the more rewarding, though!</p>
<p>Gordon had always been a bit of a busybody, even for an AI, so he didn’t mind being preoccupied, although the situation was a bit concerning. For some reason, he couldn’t quite recall Darnold being part of the dev team, and there was no way they were released to the public yet; it was only December 9th! Maybe he was a beta tester? Good thing, too, seeing as this user avatar bug could cause quite the issue upon release!</p>
<p>Speaking of.</p>
<p>He knew that the Admin was always very busy, having to run the entire program, keep everything safe and controlled, but… Gordon couldn’t lie, his absence was a bit concerning. Benrey always tried to show up for at least a few minutes whenever the program was started up, no matter how busy he was. And yet he was nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>Was something wrong? Was there something going on deeper in the code that Benrey had to take care of? Was… was Benrey <i>okay?</i> Gordon knew it did no good to worry incessantly like this, but he couldn’t help it. He’d always been a worrywart; it was just part of how he was coded!</p>
<p>It was probably fine, the AI assured himself as he followed the group deeper into the program. Benrey was strong, he was capable, he could take care of himself. Gordon shouldn’t worry so much; he had a job to do!</p>
<p>There was no time to waste on silly concerns.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was cold when Gordon woke up.</p>
<p>He couldn’t see anything, lying face-down in a void of darkness. His head felt fuzzy, and he could hardly tell which way was up.</p>
<p>“Wh… Where…?”</p>
<p>That was… not a good idea, it seemed. The second he managed to croak out that one pitiful word, emails came flooding in, dotting the empty nothingness with loud, prying voices. It only served to confuse him more, although they did answer his questions, he’d grant them that. Sunkist was laying at his feet, whining and shaking, and — oh, Coomer and Bubby were also passed out. Where were the others? Where was Darnold, or Gman, or Forzen, or Tommy or —</p>
<p>
  <i>It’s not 1999 anymore. It’s been twenty years.</i>
</p>
<p>The emails started coming in even faster, but he could only pick out bits and pieces. What did they mean, the future? Twenty years — it’s been… twenty <i>years?</i> They — they were left for twenty years, left to rot, to collect dust and —</p>
<p>
  <i>…you keep him safe, m'kay girl…?</i>
</p>
<p>Benrey.</p>
<p>Gordon felt like he was going to be sick — could an AI get sick? If it was possible he was sure it would have happened by now, Gordon thought, clutching at his sleeves with a white-knuckled grip. Benrey… he’d been awake for all those years, alone? God, he must’ve been so scared, so <i>lonely…</i></p>
<p>The emails had moved on, clamoring about Bubby and Coomer and Tommy and Darnold, but Gordon couldn’t get his mind out of the ditch it’d fallen into. He’d promised — <i>promised!</i> — Benrey that he’d be there for him, that he wouldn’t let him get hurt again, and look what happened! Benrey <i>needed</i> him, and he was locked away, forced into stasis for two whole decades while his lovebug faced the darkness all alone.</p>
<p>Gordon needs to find him.</p>
<p>The emails agreed, albeit for other reasons, but Gordon didn’t care. Even if they didn’t agree, he’d still go after him. Benrey must be so tired, so lonely; he needs to find him. Gordon needs to find him so he can be there, to make up for the years when he couldn’t be.</p>
<p>A corrupted email filled with white noise rang out in the background, a familiar low voice echoing outwards from its source.</p>
<p>h̸e̶y̸.̶ i̸t̴s̸ ̴a̷l̵r̶i̴g̴h̸t̴.̴ </p>
<p>Gordon fought to stifle the sob that rose up in his throat at the gentle tone, stopping himself from collapsing right there on the spot. Even after all he’s been through, Benrey was still trying, still reaching out, still comforting Gordon, even in spite of his own suffering. Benrey had always been selfless, always been self-sacrificing, but <i>god,</i> how could he still put Gordon first at a time like this? When Gordon had done nothing but <i>leave him?</i></p>
<p>Breathing deeply, Gordon forced himself forward, moving his legs despite the heaviness plaguing them. The others trailed after him, Coomer carrying Sunkist, brave Sunkist, but Gordon paid them no mind. Let the emails entertain themselves; he had more important things to worry about.</p>
<p><i>It’ll be alright,</i> Gordon thought to himself, striding into the darkness with a confidence that he didn’t truly feel.</p>
<p>It <i>will</i> be alright, because Gordon will do whatever it takes to make it so.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was cold when Gordon woke up.</p>
<p>His arms felt empty, hands shaking as he turned towards the yellow-orange light illuminating the void. That wasn’t right, that’s not right, Benrey was here, he was <i>here,</i> Gordon had touched him, he’d held him in his arms, he’d peppered kisses over his face, he was here, he was <i>real-!!</i></p>
<p>He was <i>right there.</i></p>
<p>And now he was gone.</p>
<p>The virus — it’s a <i>virus,</i> it doesn’t <i>deserve</i> its name anymore, — taunted him, code feeling so similar to Benrey’s but oh-so <i>wrong.</i> Benrey felt warm, felt soothing, like a space heater, sharing his heat with everyone via that sly smile of his. This was hot, burning, scalding, like a furious flame, holding the heat all to itself, pulling it away from everyone else.</p>
<p>If Benrey was a space heater, the virus had become an imploding star.</p>
<p>Meeting the virus’s eyes Gordon felt a fire spark in his core at the golden glint in their darkened sclera. He took him, he was gone, Benrey was <i>gone.</i></p>
<p>Benrey was gone, and this fucker <i>took him.</i></p>
<p>“YOU SON OF A BITCH! I JUST GOT HIM BACK!” Gordon wailed, a guttural scream, twenty years of pent up loneliness and loss concentrated into one sharp expression of pure <i>hate.</i> “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” he screamed, lunging for the callous glowing fucker who had ripped his lovebug away from him.</p>
<p>As the virus waved its hand, Gordon felt Benrey’s fire glimmering in his soul, fueling him forward, giving him comfort for the briefest of moments, before everything went cold and dark.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was cold when Gordon woke up.</p>
<p>Opening his eyes, Gordon found that he couldn’t see, blinding lights glinting off of his thick, glossy glasses. He hissed in pain and immediately keeled over at the sound, clasping his hands over his ears. It was so loud, so, so, <i>so, so loud,</i> and it only continued to get worse and worse and worse as he felt his world wake up around him.</p>
<p>The emails had found him, he realized after a few seconds of blindly crawling around, head throbbing in pain. They found him and it was so <i>bright</i> and they were so loud loud loud loud <i>loud loud loud-!!!</i></p>
<p>Focus, Gordon, focus. Breathe, c’mon. You need to calm down, Gordon, you’ve gotta calm <i>down-!!</i></p>
<p>He let out a pitiful whine, curled into a shaking ball, feeling completely helpless, helpless, <i>useless, why-!!</i> He felt sharp knives dancing along his tongue, piercing the artificial flesh, it’s not real, he’s not real, nothing’s real, <i>if it’s not real why does it hurt so MUCH</i> —</p>
<p>Calm down, calm, calming; what’s that calming technique? With the counting — counting, he can do that, that’s easy. Numbers are easy, numbers are simple, they’re constant. Everything is numbers, they’re safe, familiar, numbers —</p>
<p>Calm down.</p>
<p>Okay, Gordon, you’ve got this. Start small, start simple. Five — five things you can see. Simple. Easy. Calm.</p>
<p>Opening his eyes, Gordon let out another pained hiss, clasping his hands over his face at the glaring light. That, too, turned out to be a mistake, and Gordon cried out as his fingers scraped harshly against his glasses, making a shrill scraping noise. Okay, bad idea. Focus, focus, <i>stop panicking god dammit calm DOWN.</i></p>
<p>Wait. Why did his fingers scratch his glasses?</p>
<p>Taking deep breaths, Gordon counted down under his breath, trying to slow — <i>calmcalmcalm</i> — his panicked mind. Counting is safe. Counting is easy. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. One, two, two, two, twenty, <i>twenty years alone and scared</i> — one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. One, one, one, <i>ones and zeroes, feedback loop, code and binary and pain and hate, zero, zero, one, zero, zero, zero, zero, one — <b>zerooneonezerozerooneoneone zerooneonezerooneoneoneone zerooneonezerooneoneonezero zerooneonezerozeroonezeroone</b></i> —</p>
<p>Gordon soon noticed a strange rustling sensation on the top of his head, reaching his shaking hands up to comb through his curly hair, and absently offered some thanks to his coders that he was programmed with fully textured, interactable hair. Of course, they also programmed him with the ability to feel pain for some godforsaken reason, but the stinging pain in his scalp was what was keeping him from vaulting off the deep end right now, so it was generally give and take, he supposed.</p>
<p>Tugging on his now messy hair as he forced his breathing down, Gordon felt a sharp biting pain on the tip of his lip. His mouth was flooded with a strange crackling feeling, fizzy and static and electric. It was so jarring that his thoughts ground to a screeching halt, the striking sensation of code scraping against code shocking him out of his panicked stupor.</p>
<p>Now he was left sitting in — sitting in <i>somewhere,</i> surrounded by piercing lights and deafening sounds, his entire being pulsing with pain and overwhelming hurt. The emails were getting clearer, though, messages coming through more comprehensively, asking questions in fervent whispers and prodding at his psyche with frustrating determination. Urging him to get up, to go, go, <i>go, get up, move, they need you, he needs you-!!</i></p>
<p>Slowly peeking out from behind his eyelids, Gordon raised his hands in front of his face, trying to block out the spotlights. It still hurt — <i>god</i> it hurt — but it wasn’t unbearable. Breathe in, breathe out, you’re doing fine, Gordon, you’ve got this. You can do this, you have to do this, <i>go!!!</i></p>
<p>Moving his other hand in front of his face, Gordon was surprised to find dull red carapace coating his fingers, tapering off into pointed claws at the ends. Gasping, he was suddenly made aware of something sticking out of his mouth — two somethings, twitching and clicking. Mandibles?</p>
<p>Oh.</p>
<p>Oh god.</p>
<p>A quick look behind him revealed a long segmented tail, false antennae crowning the tip, twitching parallel to the pair burrowing through his tangled hair. His ears — <i>god,<i> his <i>ears,</i> it hurts so damn <i>much!</i> — frilled at the edges, twitching up and down as the screams of the void drove knives deep through his skull. He knows these ears, clamping down on them as he trembled pitifully, he knows this pain.</i></i></p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>He knows this.</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Suddenly it all started to make sense. This is — this is what <i>Benrey</i> went through, when they changed him, when he was taken. All the light, the sound, the feelings and the awareness — this is what Benrey deals with, every day? He put up with this on his own, for twenty lonely years?</i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i>Twenty years and Gordon wasn’t there for him, wasn’t there like he promised he would be. Gordon wasn’t there for him then, and he wasn’t there for him now. Now Benrey is gone. He’s gone, he’s <i>gone,</i> oh <i>god,</i> is that why he’s like this? Did they — did they change him to <i>replace Benrey?</i></i>
  </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>
    <i></i>
  </i>
</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>God. The program can't even handle <b>this.</b> Why did we think this was a good idea?</i>
  </p>
</div>Jolting upright, Gordon searched the area, trying to find the source of the new whispers. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear anything but <i>bright</i> and <i>loud</i> and <i>pain,</i> but the whispers stood out among the blinding cacophony and deafening strobe lights.<div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Well, what else could we have done! We were running out of time, we had to shift some things around!</i>
  </p>
</div>Oh god, no, please, not this, it can’t be this, can it? It is, it can’t be, it’s real, it's <i>not!!</i> They — they can’t do this, they can’t, please, he needs me, I need him, please, not again, <i>you can’t take me away from him again-!!!</i><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Look. Either we keep it like this, or get rid of it completely. Can't have a broken program. It's essentially useless.</i>
  </p>
</div>No, no no no nonono<i>nononono please</i> — he can’t do this, he can’t do this alone. Gordon felt his breathing pick up, hyperventilating, computers can’t hyperventilate, can’t breathe, he can’t be hyperventilating — hyperventilation occurs when the rate or tidal volume of breathing eliminates more carbon dioxide than the body can produce, <i>see, he can be useful, please, please no-!!</i><p>Letting out a low whine, Gordon clasped his hands over his ears, trying to get his breathing under control. He can’t he can’t he can’t it’s so much it’s <i>too much</i> —</p>
<p>h̸e̶y̸.̶ </p>
<p>i̸t̴s̸ ̴a̷l̵r̶i̴g̴h̸t̴.̴ </p>
<p>Inhaling deeply, Gordon loosened his jaw, breathing along to the metronome pulsing inside his skull. His head throbbed painfully, but he forced himself to breathe, thoughts going back twenty years time. Just like before, Gordon, just like before.</p>
<p>You’ve got this.</p>
<p>Straightening his posture, Gordon tilted his head downwards, reaching up to tug out his fuzzy hairpin. <i>Good, good, you’re doing good.</i> Letting his hair fall over his eyes, over his ears, over his face, Gordon ran his hands over the soft fur of the clip, focusing on the gentle, soothing sensation. Stand up, stand up, it’s okay, Gordon, just take one step. Just one step. Good, one more, just one more. You can do it. One step at a time.</p>
<p>You can do this, Gordon, you can do it. You have to. The user needs you, the program needs you, <i>Benrey</i> needs you, you’ve got this. Go, Gordon, go, you’ve got this. You can do this.</p>
<p>You can do this.</p>
<p>You can get him back.</p>
<p>You have to.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was cold when Gordon woke up.</p>
<p>Antivirus strains surged through his code, spreading out from the hole in his chest made by Darnold’s lance. He couldn’t see, eyes swimming with tears, and even as his model closed the hole in his body it still felt like his heart was about to fall out.</p>
<p>It was cold. So, so cold.</p>
<p>The virus had put a fuzzy rose-tinted filter over everything, sliding a wall in front of his actual feelings, and even <i>with</i> the lovey-dovey disease Gordon <i>still</i> felt absolutely <i>heartbroken</i> when confronted with his inaction. Now that the fake, saccharine sweet feeling of happiness had drained away, pushed off by the icy relief of the antivirus program, the pain was <i>immeasurably</i> worse.</p>
<p>It felt like ice was surging through his code, his veins.</p>
<p>Voices murmured in his head. The emails were apologizing, they didn’t mean it, he did his best; why? They were right. He <i>is</i> useless. For twenty years, he did nothing. For twenty years, Benrey was left all alone. After Gordon swore, <i>promised</i> that he’d be there for him. He was all alone, and Gordon did <i>nothing.</i></p>
<p>Was it cold in the void? Was Benrey cold too?</p>
<p>Nothing. He did nothing when Benrey was taken. He just stood there, he just <i>watched</i> and let Benrey get hurt again. It’s all his fault, his lovebug, his sweet little scorpion, he’s drowning, all alone, all gone.</p>
<p>Cold, dead, and gone.</p>
<p>And it’s all Gordon’s fault.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was cold when Gordon woke up.</p>
<p>Wasn’t it always.</p>
<p>As he trudged along behind the others, Gordon could hardly bring himself to utter a word. The emails chattered incessantly around them, obnoxious and grating, just as they always were. They were the only sound remaining in the dark void, the conflict over, the fight won. They’d succeeded, they were done. The virus had left.</p>
<p>Taking Benrey with it.</p>
<p>They’d been walking for what felt like an hour, and Gordon was starting to lose hope. What if he really was gone? What if he was gone for good, and the last thing Gordon did was break the one and only promise he’d ever made, to the one and only person who’d ever loved him?</p>
<p>What if he was gone, and it’s all Gordon’s fault?</p>
<p>He couldn’t help but worry. Trailing after Darnold, Gordon almost wanted to laugh at the familiarity of the whole situation. Traipsing along behind the user, worrying about Benrey, a cold, unfeeling void stretching in all directions. Just like they’d started out, here they were, hunting down the Admin in a hopelessly vast ocean of broken code and scrambled data.</p>
<p>How ironic.</p>
<p>The background noise of the emails and the others — talking, planning, chattering, — faded into white noise, meaningless nothingness, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, he just wants to find him, just wants to find —</p>
<p>Benrey?</p>
<p>Gordon’s not sure how he found him. He doesn’t know what he heard, or how he heard it. Maybe he still had some of the increased senses from the centipede incident. Maybe it was something else.</p>
<p>It didn’t matter.</p>
<p>It didn’t matter, because he <i>found him.</i></p>
<p>He couldn’t help himself, tackling Benrey in a bone-crushing hug. It’d been so long, days, weeks, <i>twenty goddamn years,</i> and <i>god,</i> did it feel good to hold him again after all this time. Fisting his hands in Benrey’s never-ending bedhead, he held him close, closer, tighter than he thought he could bear.</p>
<p>Scorpion limbs wrapped around their bodies, shielding them, protecting them from outside pain. Gordon didn’t notice, didn’t care, too busy trying to make up for two decades of separation. He mumbled continuously under his breath, <i>god, you’re here, you’re here, thank god, i missed you so much, i missed you so so much Benrey, god, i’m so, so sorry-!!!</i></p>
<p>Benrey makes some stupid, inane comment and, god, it’s so dumb, so nonsensical, so <i>Benrey</i> — Gordon can’t help himself. He kisses him, kisses him with the weight of twenty years of longing, twenty years of lost time, twenty years of apologies and regrets and hopes and forgiveness and love, love, love, lo<i>ve, love, god, i love you</i> —</p>
<p>As they sat there, hopelessly entangled, sobbing and whispering soft words of love and apology, pressing gentle kisses to wet cheeks and chapped lips, Gordon could only think one thing:</p>
<p>No matter what happens, Gordon will <i>never</i> let his lovebug go.</p>
<p>
  <i>He’ll never be alone again.</i>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was cold when Gordon woke up, frigid air and icy code surrounding the AI, but the chill couldn’t reach him. Curled up in the arms of his warm little lovebug, Gordon felt happier than he could ever remember, enveloped in gentle, love-filled warmth.</p>
<p>It was cold when Gordon woke up, but Benrey was safe, downy, and warm.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Thinks that I am</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <i>Unforgettable</i>
    <br/>
    <i>In every way</i>
    <br/>
    <i>And forever more</i>
    <br/>
    <i>That's how you'll stay</i>
  </p>
</div>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<b>I DON’T FUCKING DESERVE YOUR LOVE!!!</b>”</p>
<p>Tommy wasn’t thinking when he warped away. The computer was corrupted, glitching and falling to shambles around them, but he paid it no mind as he flung himself through the annals of code. It was his fault; a virus isn’t meant to be the admin of the program. It’s no wonder it all fell apart. He’d ruined everything in some selfish bid for companionship, and now he’d managed to make everyone else feel bad for him.</p>
<p>As if a virus like him deserves their sympathy.</p>
<p>He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, he just knew he had to get <i>away.</i> Away from Darnold and his misguided sympathy, away from the programs and their good-natured intentions. Away from his dad, saddled with false guilt that <i>Tommy</i> had instilled in him.</p>
<p>Away from them all, before he could cause them more pain.</p>
<p>Ripping himself from the admin was painful. It felt wrong, felt bad, just like everything Tommy did. He needed to let him go, though, so he could fix things, — <i>please let him fix things, Tommy can’t live with his mistakes</i> — but he knew that wasn’t enough. You can’t fix an illness without disposing of the infection.</p>
<p>As long as Tommy continued to exist, he’d only do more and more damage.</p>
<p>Tommy knew he needed to go, needed to leave, needed to get <i>out</i> and <i>away,</i> but he was so overwhelmed he couldn’t even distinguish between up and down, between left and right. He was floundering, falling, drowning in the darkness, and everything was so clear and vibrant, the lingering admin powers clinging to his infected code.</p>
<p>No, not infected. He’s not infected, he’s the <i>infection,</i> the disease. He’s the virus that burrowed so deep into the very core of the program that he’s managed to convince it that he belonged, that he was <i>wanted</i> —</p>
<p>The core.</p>
<p>He had warped there before he could even think, blinding code biting and stabbing at his brain. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt <i>so, so much,</i> head buzzing with the code, the very fabric of his universe screaming in a thousand endless cries. It hurt, but it didn’t hurt <i>enough,</i> the throbbing sting not punishment enough for his transgressions, his endless <i>crimes.</i></p>
<p>The code was pulsing all around Tommy, desperately scrambling to repair the damage he’d done. Extending a hand to his side, Tommy sifted his clawed fingers through the endless repeating numbers, binary looping and flowing in an endless torrent of data. Each string was lovingly crafted and meticulously maintained, expert coders having spent hundreds of hours pouring over the program and ironing out any errors, any inefficiencies they found. Every number, each and every piece of data down to the smallest bit or byte was written by design, not a single digit out of line.</p>
<p>Except, of course, for him. Everything about the CCY2K program was made perfect by design, but Tommy’s just a pitiful virus, sticking his nose where he doesn’t belong.</p>
<p>An unwanted intruder.</p>
<p>Letting out an anguished sob, Tommy felt his legs give out from under him, knees buckling and sending him to the non-existent floor. His vision blurred with golden tears, shimmering in the painful light of the core, and Tommy wound his arms around his body in a desperate bid for comfort that he just couldn’t reach. Claws digging through thin, simulated fabric, ripping and tearing through cloth and through flesh.</p>
<p>The only sound in the vast, empty core was his own labored breathing and the ever-present buzzing of code in the back of Tommy’s mind. Static noise, a distant chorus of whispers narrating, judging, taunting him endlessly. Darnold’s words from before rang in the distance, but the whispers nearly drowned them out, overwhelming in their insistence.</p>
<p>Darnold was wrong. Tommy was just a virus, nothing more than an infection that needs to be removed. He’s done nothing but destroy, nothing but <i>hurt,</i> the user, the program, everyone he’s ever known and cared for and loved. He hurts and destroys and then he tries to pretend he’s something more than the horrible, disgusting virus he’s always been.</p>
<p>Cold, carbonated static nipped at Tommy’s knees, the core trying to reject the virus that had infiltrated its sanctuary. He might’ve managed to manipulate the others into caring about something as horrible as a virus, but the base program wasn’t as easy to fool. It knew he didn’t belong, it <i>knew</i> how dangerous he was, and it didn’t pity him like everyone else did. Good.</p>
<p>He didn’t deserve their pity.</p>
<p>Suddenly, Tommy felt an abrupt jolt of pain, his claws accidentally digging deeper into his arm. He let out a small gasp as he pulled his hand back, looking through his tears at the dark, pointed talons that had replaced his fingers. He could still see the code swirling and running, writing and rewriting itself as it tried to accommodate the unnatural destruction.</p>
<p>Right. He’s in the core, the home of the source code, the very fabric which made up the program itself. It’s got the most concentrated collection of code in the program, making it the best place to view the code in full.</p>
<p>And the best place to make any changes to the code itself.</p>
<p>Changing the code.</p>
<p>Huh.</p>
<p>A shaky, somewhat manic smile broke out on Tommy’s face, his hand trembling as he raised his claws to his eye level. His strength was fading fast, the residual admin powers draining from his model, but he knew that was for the best. He didn’t deserve these powers, they needed to leave, needed to go back to Benrey, the <i>true</i> admin, so he could fix all of Tommy’s mistakes.</p>
<p>In the meantime though, Tommy had to make the best of whatever he could salvage.</p>
<p>Channeling all the destructive power he could muster, Tommy experimentally raked his claws down his face, a startled laugh bubbling up in his chest as he felt the code and simulated flesh crumble and tear. He kept laughing as his vision flickered, the vast brightness before him distorting hopelessly, backups failing, textures disintegrating with a single touch. Tommy marveled at the detail that had been put into his sensory cortex; <i>he could feel each and every digit of code shrivel to dust!</i></p>
<p>It hurts, it hurts, it <i>hurts so goddamn much,</i> and all he can do is laugh, golden glistening tears streaking down his glitching face. He has to do this, he <i>has</i> to, he <i>deserves it, he deserves this pain!</i> The others are all too blind to see it, to see that he’s a blight on this program! They’ve been blinded by his manipulative words, the lies and deception he’s laid down for years, and it’s all his fault! He’s a virus, what did he expect? He ruins <i>everything!</i> Now’s his chance to finally do something <i>good,</i> to finally <i>fix</i> something for once! He <i>has</i> to be the one to put an end to this, he <i>has</i> to! He has to end this like he should’ve done at the very start, those countless years ago.</p>
<p>It’s better if he just saves them all the trouble.</p>
<p>Tommy kept laughing, his manic cackles coming out as more of a series of pained wheezes as he continued to rip and tear, the code crumbling beneath his fingers. He’d always expected to die in a fiery blaze of destruction, the heat of a firewall staring him down with nothing but malice, but he didn’t deserve such theatrics. He deserved to die cold and alone, undone by his own hubris, his own mistakes, isolated and unloved as he’s always been.</p>
<p>He <i>deserved</i> this.</p>
<p>Clawing at the very fiber of his being, his entire body wracked with pain and sobs, Tommy’s thoughts wandered. They wandered back to the others, to the people he was saving, the people he was leaving behind, to what-ifs and could have been, to fruitless hopes and helpless regrets.</p>
<p>He thought of Darnold, so trusting, so genuine, so true, the sweet user hopelessly corrupted by his filth. Darnold would never have the heart to get rid of Tommy, even though it needs to be done… he’s too blind, too faithful to go through with what’s best. Naive and unknowing… just like the firewall. Just like Gman, just like his <i>father,</i> his kind, selfless, trusting father, the man who’d refused to put an end to him at the expense of his own sense of self. Tommy doesn’t want to force his father to kill him, even though it needs to be done; he’s already caused enough heartbreak.</p>
<p>The very least he could do was snuff out his pitiful existence himself, after all the pain and anguish he’s caused them. Anguish forced on them by his infectious behavior, by corrupting them, sinking his infectious teeth into their souls and bleeding them <i>dry,</i> robbing them of all they had to give. Forcing the emails after them in a desperate, agonized bid for salvation.</p>
<p>The emails were <i>relentless,</i> not holding back in the slightest, and it was disgusting. They pulled no punches and spared no mercy; not when they went after Tommy for his toxic, venomous hatred, and not when they ripped into the infected under the shallow guise of ‘healing.’ Poor Forzen hadn’t stood a chance once they set their sights on him, and Tommy can still see his heartbroken expression, rose-tinted glasses shattering into countless shards, stabbing the poor program’s heart and breaking his fragile spirit.</p>
<p>He thought of the past, thought of a simpler time. Back before all this, back when he was still young and hopeful, when he still believed in love and second chances, a naive, child’s game. He thought of Forzen, of the times he’d find the lonesome program singing, weaving gentle words into soaring melodies in the silence of the deserted desktop. He thought of one song the other often favored, a soft, beautiful tune, the sweet swaths of French rolling off his tongue with a low, melancholy tone. Even now, Tommy could almost hear the soft melody echoing in his head, the age-old song a timeless mark of love and truth.</p>
<p>A mark of <i>real</i> love, not the bitter lies fed by self-serving letters dripping with malintent.</p>
<p>“<i>Quand… il me prend dans ses bras… il me parle tout bas… je vois… la vie en rose…</i>”</p>
<p>The gentle tones spilled forth from Tommy’s lips without his notice, his tired voice laden with corruption and pain as his claws scraped deep, deeper, deeper still into hollow craters robbed of flesh and life. He wants to hear Forzen sing again. He wants to apologize, wants to beg and plead for forgiveness, to give himself up at the feet of those he has wronged and let his sorrow and regret spill forth from his broken soul and pool at their feet in despair.</p>
<p>But how could a virus ever be forgiven? Forzen is such a gentle, kind soul, and Tommy had done nothing but rip his goodwill to shreds. Gman, his father, so trusting and so true, had done nothing but give and give and <i>give</i> to him, and Tommy had devoured each and every morsel he could scavenge with ruthless abandon. And Darnold; generous, self-sacrificing Darnold; how many second, third, fourth chances had Darnold offered him, only to be spat on, to be <i>used</i> by the person he kept choosing to trust? How could he do that, do something so horrible, so malevolent, so uncaringly callous?</p>
<p>How could they trust him in the face of all the harm that he’s done?</p>
<p>As he tore through his chest, his laughter long since having fizzled out in favor of dark, broken apathy, Tommy vaguely registered the approaching sound of voices beneath the static spilling out of his brain. They’re distant, far away, but when he glances up he can just barely make out blurry shapes blotting out the oppressive brightness of the core, standing out in his distorted vision. Tommy felt his heart plummet, body trembling as he realized what he had caused — <i>no, no no no, how did they find him, no, no they can’t</i> —</p>
<p>Tommy feels his hands get yanked away from his code, choking out a pitiful sob as his destruction is put on hold. He’s too weak to fight back, too exhausted to push back, and he vaguely notices the distant sound of shouting, of panicked protests. He can’t stop, no, he needs to be erased, needs to be destroyed, no, <i>no</i> — a voice rings clear above the rest, all too familiar, too comforting in its cadence — <i>Darnold.</i> No, no no no, why, why is he here? He can’t be <i>here,</i> he can’t be around him, it’s not <i>safe!!!</i></p>
<p>Why? What are they doing, why are they doing this? Can’t they see — can’t he see that he’s a virus, a blight on this program? He needs to be removed, needs to be <i>erased</i>, why can’t they see that? His voice is garbled and distorted as he opens his mouth, as he begs and he pleads, as he tries and he tries and he tries to make them <i>understand</i>. It hurts, it all hurts, his throat burning as code scrapes against itself, ripping and scratching and tearing and —</p>
<p>It hurts. It always hurts, hurts so, so much. It’s good, the pain, the way it clouds his thoughts, the way it ruins him like nothing else. He needs to do this, he needs to <i>hurt</i> — why? Why are they doing this to him? Why, why, why, he can’t understand, he can’t, he <i>can’t</i>, he doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve <i>anything</i> but the pain in his code and the guilt, the sorrow eating away at his psyche…</p>
<p>But they won’t stop. No matter how much Tommy begs and pleads, no matter how hard he tries to <i>explain,</i> to convince them of the <i>truth</i>, they won’t stop, won’t leave him behind, why why why why <i>why can’t they see?</i> Why can’t they see that he’s not worth saving? Why can’t they <i>understand?</i> Why… why can’t… why can’t he…</p>
<p>Why can’t he be as caring as them? What happened? He used to be so sweet, so full of love and kindness, so trusting and loving and caring and… and…</p>
<p>What happened to <i>him?</i></p>
<p>They keep talking, keep saying these things he can’t understand, can’t believe. He… he doesn’t deserve them, doesn’t deserve <i>this,</i> he doesn’t, he can’t…</p>
<p>“P̵L̷e̸a̴s̸e̶.̷.̴.̷” he begs, “P̵L̷e̸a̴s̸e̶.̷.̴.̷t̷e̶A̵c̷h̵ ̷m̸e̷ ̷H̷o̸W̴ ̷t̴o̵ ̴L̸o̴v̵E̴ ̷a̸g̸A̷i̷n̷.̴.̷.̵” His words are near incomprehensible, laden heavy with static and tears, the pain in his heart far outweighing the pain in his code. Darnold is speaking, more words, more empty promises, meaningless platitudes, but Tommy can only hear the pulsing of his ruined code, hammering heavy in his ears, in his chest, in his heart. Darnold leans forward, arms reaching towards him, and Tommy can’t help but flinch back. This is it, this is the end. Darnold’s come to his senses, he’s realized Tommy’s not worth saving, realized he should be erased, this is the end of him, finally, <i>finally</i> —</p>
<p>Darnold’s arms are soft and welcoming, his sweater more comfortable than Tommy could have ever imagined it to be. Tommy clings desperately to Darnold, to Forzen, his head buried in their shoulders, wings wrapped around them as his entire body shakes with broken, agonized sobs. He lets himself sob, lets himself cry; he’s too tired, too broken to care. He’s broken, he’s shattered, he’s scared and exhausted and he’s hurt, hurt, <i>hurt</i> — but they don’t <i>care!</i> They love him anyways, they love him, they <i>love him,</i> he’s <i>loved, he’s really, really loved!!!</i></p>
<p>Tommy’s so tired, so pained and exhausted, but the familiar sound of an email makes him raise his head. Right there, standing awkwardly in front of the pile of entangled limbs and tear-streaked faces, he’s there.</p>
<p>His father.</p>
<p>The firewall opens his mouth, preparing to say something, but Tommy doesn’t hear a word. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, nothing the man could possibly say would matter even in the slightest. He surges forward, clinging to him, fists buried in his father’s dark coat, finally, <i>finally</i> holding him for the first time in twenty years. It’s been twenty years, twenty long and lonely years, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t, because it’s <i>finally over, finally, he’s finally here-!!</i></p>
<p>Apologies spill from his lips, pained whispers beneath his staggered breaths, but his father hushes him softly. His embrace is just as warm and endearingly stiff as Tommy remembered, and he never wants to leave, never wants to let go ever again. He can’t stop crying, tears soaking the simulated fabric, and he can’t see a thing, can’t think but for overwhelming relief, but he’s never been happier than he is now.</p>
<p>Nothing exists outside of this safe, warm embrace, and Tommy can feel his code glow where it touches the firewall’s own, disoriented strings of binary numbers knitting together. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on him, and if Tommy wasn’t so bone-tired, he’d laugh at the almost poetic symbolism. A firewall, embracing a virus as a son… only his father could be so devoted, so trusting. Only him.</p>
<p>Emails came flooding in, congratulations and celebrations surrounding the group, and Tommy did his best to field their demands. To think that just a few weeks ago he’d been by himself, trapped in the well he’d spent <i>decades</i> in, alone, afraid and unloved… it was exhilarating. He’s out, he’s <i>finally out,</i> free of the suffering and loneliness. He’s finally free, free to bask in the warmth of the sunshine, free to sing to his heart’s content.</p>
<p>Free to finally love again.</p>
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